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Wake up. Eat granola. Healthy stool. Shave. My car is broken. Imprudent to spend the money to fix it. Take the bus to the train to my workplace, where I struggle to be of service to the best of my ability. 9 hours of that. Train to the bus to the walk back home. Call the cat in. Eat leftovers. Jerk off to a black man impregnating an overweight Asian woman. Read three pages of A Feast for Crows. Fall asleep. I dream that I’m drinking. The feeling is: oh no I fucked up.

Wake up. Look at Tinder. On the train I make my allotted hundred swipes. If I’m lucky, one girl swipes back. My profile says “message me first.” If I’m lucky one girl does. If I’m lucky it’s something besides “Hi.” If I’m lucky it’s a real first move and she’s asking me out. Can’t bring myself to work for it now. The two millimeter motion of my thumb is as much giving a fuck as I can conjure for these sad stupid women and their sad stupid dogs. If I’m lucky it’s someone OK looking who seems kind of interesting. Maybe we’ll get along with one another. Maybe she finds me attractive enough to actually say something. Like I’ve been saying something to hundreds and hundreds of women for ten years, all for nothing and I fucking give up. If I’m lucky fate will kick in. The universe will take care of me. I’m not lucky.

After work, ride my bike to AA. Spiritual growth but it’s an 80/20 room and there’s no shot at pussy. Or there is, but you have to “fellowship.” Worm your way into some clique of AA people. Go for post meeting Mongolian barbecue where it’s another 80/20 room, four guys hanging on the words of the same one girl you’re all trying to fuck. Six times a week. Occasionally I go speak at mental institutions. No shot there either. The girls have no teeth. Or I’ll go to a Sex and Love Addicts Anonymous meeting. Hear some gay guy talk about how he got HIV.

Go home, cat, jerk off, George RR Martin. Sleep shit shower shave bus train work work work gym home bed. I’m buying a new car. After much deliberation I’ll purchase a certified pre owned Subaru Legacy. My credit is terrible. My payment will be egregious. But I’ll drive Uber with it on Fridays. Save extra. Ten or twenty years I’ll have enough to buy a plot on the beach in the Philippines. Live like Colonel Kurtz. Goat farm in the jungle and a colony of teenage catamites.

For now: time with family. Pay bills. Rebuild credit. Check vigilantly for irregular moles. Apply ointment to the cat when necessary. He’s allergic to flea saliva. There’s a record setting drought and more trees are dying in the park. The city will bring a wood chipper soon and perhaps I’ll dangle my nuts in it. It’s Mother’s Day. I will take my mother to a museum and then a nice Mexican restaurant.

But “where the fuck did you go” means: why aren’t you writing more.

Look dude: I don’t control this. I just make my fingers move on a keyboard every day. Most of the time crap comes out. Something good comes when I feel something. But I feel absolutely zero point zero emotions now. Maybe walking up the hill from the bus I hear a song sparrow. Good. Couple on the street holding hands. Bad. But mostly I just scrutinize my pay stub. Reckon the maximum I can squirrel away grinding for decades so I can set a torch to this life and go Mutiny on the Bounty with nubile chimpanzee faced Filipinas with IQs of 70 and fertile young loins.

Fuck all this shit. Fuck everything. My apartment gets cleaner, my bills are paid sooner, my FICO score creeps up, I own nicer appliances. It’s all nothing. I live like Ward Fucking Cleaver except for the part where he had a wife and kids and he came home and they gave a fuck about him. That’s over in this world, so: fuck you I’ll do what I want. The jungle. The monkeyfaced girls. Die taking a 150cc scooter off a volcano.

One thing I won’t do is make garbage to fill space. The entire internet is complete shit. No one has real feelings. Everyone has time to fill, space to fill, money to make. Deadlines every day to boost the brand. Sell books about how to write books by not really writing books in a sponsored post for Linkedin because some cunt you got pregnant needs money– fuck all that shit forever. Numbered lists of crap reacting to crap that means nothing, commentary on commentary on White Males Versus Everyone Else, fake MSNBC versus fake Fox News and all of it just exists to sell you Single Christian Women over Fifty or whateverthefuck ads you get. Mine are all for Subarus now.

Cut me a fucking break. I do what I can. Every couple months I crack a story in the shower. Ten more and you can buy my book for three dollars. When will that be: I don’t fuckin know. It’s not up to me. You can force meaningless trash that helps no one. You can’t force good shit.

Also, the post below this is pretty good and it’s like two weeks old. Jesus Christ.

Like I said…..I check your stupid little space EVERY day because I enjoy reading your shit , copying it and passing it off as my own 🙂 All jokes aside, make a suggestion box and have people send you stuff to write about PR perhaps even questions. This may give you an idea to branch out on. Even rational male who’s blog is much more sophisticated than yours, writes at least 3-4 times a month but I have to say that yours is way funnier and I can relate to it more. Keep writing.

Every post since you’ve got into recovery, I’ve laughed aloud at something you’ve written. Because it’s exactly how I feel about whatever it is. You say out loud what I feel but can’t admit, viz “Fuck all this shit. Fuck everything. My apartment gets cleaner, my bills are paid sooner, my FICO score creeps up, I own nicer appliances. It’s all nothing.” I said recently to someone at work “I have lived a quiet and modest life, and I’m not sure I would recommend it.” Which was as close as I could get to saying what you just said. Forty-plus years I’ve lived like that or as a drunk. I could say “fuck all this” but I’m not sure I could take it anywhere.

Everyone loves you but it doesn’t matter. If it’s not that drug addict coming back to you with a kid with a jacked up nose, you don’t want it. I know you’re pretending to blame the world but you should stop and accept that YOU don’t want anything.

Thank you.
That was a wonderful response to that question, and that definitely was not what I was expecting at all, you threw me for a loop, and you’re completely right. The internet did fill up with crap to sell us the little adspace in the corner. I don’t know when it happened but it did, and it’s weird to think that its possible the thing you’re reading, watching, or even posting on could be a complete fabrication for no other purpose than to sell ads.

We like to believe the site’s we’ere posting on or watching videos on, or reading articles on were created to actually provide that service to us first and foremost. But sometimes the sneaking suspicion that it’s all clickbait is in the back of my mind. Like what am I doing? What if all of the seemingly genuine content I interact with is not even there for my benefit, but instead as a lure for advertisers. Am I just a fucking deepsea guppy swimming towards the light while some oily inverted skin pressure fish with no lips lurks just out of view? I even wonder sometimes when I’m watching the news if that’s what I’m really watching. When Anderson Cooper tells me they’ll have more after the break is that just him selling the next 5 minutes of adspace by maximizing the number of elderly black women who’ll sit eagerly through a Go-Daddy commercial just to find out if cops are given breaks by prosecutors? I half expect Anderson Cooper to be telling me to “Hang with us for a second because after the break this high school teacher grew his dick 2 inches, find out what cheap little trick he used that the pharmaceutical companies don’t want you to know about.”

Am I ever even doing anything of value anymore? Or are they all just deep sea lures designed to trick me into thinking so?

Yeah, in a perfect world the unlaid hordes would get something new from your magic fingers every day. Because it’s all, taketaketake nownownow
(with most of the under-30 crowd I mean).

But the Frustrated Writers in that aforementioned horde, we kinda know how it is; like trying to force yourself to shit & hoping for that perfect banana sized walnut brown hued poo, but you either dook out a Tootsie Roll at best or baboon your anus out at worst. Something like that.
Pretty much, if it’s there, it’s there.

90% of the time though, I’ve gotta admit a bit of jealousy.
You manage to articulate things in a way that I & prolly a few others
wish we could. So it’s fair to say I hate you a little bit.
Professionally speaking, of course.

Anyway, yeah. If it means anything from some invisible ass hole in Nebrahoma, thanks dude. Even if it is a trickle.

I like your work. On to another subject, if you are getting sidebar ads for Subarus, it means they got cookies in your browser and the website references them. Depending on your browser, turn off your tracking options and get rid of the cookies. This is handy for the day you want to buy a plane ticket or rent a car too. Those sites will find the cookies on your machine (the last date you looked) and will set the price accordingly.

The Subaru Legacy is a good car. I have a 2009 with about 55000 miles on it. It’s an insurance replacement, because I nosed the previous 2008 Subaru Legacy I had into a bar-ditch going 90 miles an hour, somersaulting and rolling three or four times. I had a slight concussion from knocking my head on the B-pillar but walked out — sun roof open, windows down and everything. Very safe cars. Mine burns more oil than it should but I thrash it and redline it everywhere I go. I assume that you’re not getting a GT, otherwise you would have said so.

However, you’re burning money on AWD and resulting gas consumption if you don’t take a few trips to the icy north or to the mountains of California, and then tell us about it.